


Sometimes My Mind Is Too Strong to Carry On

by sistersophie



Series: Orange Sky [1]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 08:09:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistersophie/pseuds/sistersophie
Summary: Jeremy and James take Richard in hand when the black dog strikes.





	Sometimes My Mind Is Too Strong to Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> This was a tough one to finish, and I’m still not sure about it, but here it is. And yes, I “Broke the Cutie” just a bit. The title is a line from “Orange Sky” by Alexi Murdoch.

Richard’s felt the inevitable descent approaching for weeks. There’s usually no particular triggering event, simply a sad realisation that his unwelcome visitor is coming, and there’s very little he can do about it.

Early morning runs help, somewhat. So does playing loud music in his car on the way to and from the office. It distracts him from the creepy voice in his head, telling him _he’s not really that good, he’s faking so much of this, he has no business taking up a spot on such an expensive television show._ When he arrives at work, he’s usually able to plaster a smile on for his colleagues, and he tries, he really tries, to stay focused on the plans for the next series, but eventually he finds himself sitting in his chair, staring at his cubicle wall, and feeling like he never wants to get up again.

Jeremy and James will notice before too long. They know him too well. 

But he’s going to reverse things first. He will chase that monster away, on his own.

So Richard says nothing, and it works – for most of one week. Then he snaps at a production assistant who’s brought him the specs for the wrong car. The poor lad, who can’t be more than nineteen or twenty, stares helplessly at Hammond for a few seconds before mumbling an apology and rushing off to correct his mistake.

Richard flushes, trying to think of what he will say to the kid when he returns. Then he realises that James is staring at him from across the room. Richard colours deeper, and turns back to his computer.

_I’m losing it. I should go home, have a few beers, and sleep this off. I’m losing it, I’m losing it – **Get control of yourself, Hammond! This review won’t write itself!**_

There’s a rapidly cooling cup of tea nearby, and he takes a sip, his hand shaking as he puts it back down. He stares blankly at his monitor. _This car is rubbish_ , he thinks. _Why are we wasting our time with rubbish cars?_

The assistant returns, looking wary.

“Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have jumped on you,” Richard says, but he can’t meet the youngster’s eyes; instead he stares at the report just to make sure it’s the correct one this time.

“Okay,” the kid mumbles, backing away as quickly as he can.

Richard turns to his screen again, feeling wretched. His cursor blinks accusingly at him. He puts his fingers on the keyboard, but nothing happens.

Another sip of tea.

He writes a sentence, and then reads it. It’s trite. He deletes it.

“Fuck,” he says out loud.

Someone is walking towards him. He doesn’t even have to look up. He can tell it’s James by the deliberateness of the gait.

“Everything all right?”

_**Cover, man! Cover!**_ He doesn’t shift his gaze from the computer. He can’t look at James; it would undo him. “Can’t seem to write today.”

“I see.”

James is standing only inches away, and it’s all Richard can do to control a sudden urge to fall into the older man’s arms and tell him everything. It would be so good to talk to someone, to spill out the fears and longings that are weighing on his mind. 

But, since James is one of the objects of his longings, it wouldn’t be right.

“Maybe we should have a chat with Andy about leaving this car out of the episode altogether, if it’s that bad.”

“I can’t…” Richard says. “I spent all that time with it…it would be a waste….”

“It isn’t a waste if you found out it was rubbish,” James declares. “We know more than we did before. Maybe we know enough not to put it on the show. Or Clarkson and Porter could make up a few jokes about it.”

“Well….” Richard runs a hand through his hair. He turns his head in James’s direction but still can’t meet his eyes.

“Something else bothering you, Rich?”

“I’m just having a bad day,” he says dismissively. “I think you’re right, though. I’ll talk to Andy.” He closes the blank document, picks up the specs sheet, and gets to his feet.

“Glad I could help,” James says softly, and Richard can’t resist a brief glance into those reflective blue eyes before he goes off to find his producer.

****

Andy is perfectly fine with taking the crap review out of the show, and Richard relaxes a bit, feeling that he’s somehow managed to accomplish something today.

“You look a little rough around the edges, Hammond,” Wilman adds, and Richard feels the tension rush right back into him. “Are you sleeping okay?”

“Most nights,” he replies, being more honest than he’d intended. He’d found himself awake for an hour in the middle of last night, his mind preoccupied with the aftermath of an unpleasant dream. He had managed to fall back asleep, but had woken up once every hour until his alarm had gone off at 6:30. 

_But no need to worry Andy about this. He has enough on his mind._

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Wilman suggests. “We won’t be getting that new Porsche in until tomorrow anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Richard, go home. Get some rest.”

Part of him wants to fight this, but it’s not very strong, and he gives in. “All right. See you tomorrow.”

Andy nods, turning back to his computer, and Richard returns to his desk to grab his phone and keys. He is almost out of the building when he hears Jeremy’s unmistakable baritone behind him.

“Skiving off early, Hammo?”

Richard doesn’t turn around. “Sod off,” he says, quietly enough that he doesn’t think Jeremy can hear him. He keeps moving. He can’t wait to get out of here, and he especially doesn’t want to talk to Jeremy right now – any more than he wanted to talk to James earlier.

_Both of them. Why did I have to fall for **both** of them?_

The door closes behind Richard, and he walks briskly to his car. He doesn’t look back.

****

His music blares up again as soon as he starts the car, but now it irritates him, so he shuts it off and just drives. His eyes, feet, and hands work automatically to operate the vehicle, but the rest of his mind is a horrible blank.

_I want all this to go away._

He arrives at his building, parks carefully, and stalks into his flat. He focuses on what is directly in front of him and nothing else. He drops his keys and phone on the table, walks into his bedroom, kicks off his shoes, and burrows under the duvet. 

It’s dark in here, and quiet, and about the safest place he knows.

Within ten minutes he is asleep.

****

He wakes two hours later, but he doesn’t feel particularly refreshed. He’s had that recurring dream about riding in the back of a moving car that had no driver. He’s sure it’s a metaphor for how much his life is out of control right now.

Richard gets up to pee. There’s a hollowness in his stomach that tells him that he needs to eat, but he hasn’t done much shopping lately, and he certainly doesn’t feel like going out to pick up takeaway.

He finds some cereal in his kitchen, takes it to his sofa, and eats a few handfuls straight out of the box while trying to find something interesting on the television. Nothing looks appealing – a stupid sitcom, some politicians arguing, a rugby match, and a re-run of _Top Gear_ on Dave. The last thing he wants to do is look at himself on his screen.

The TV goes off. Richard drops the cereal box to the floor and sits there in the dark.

_You son of a bitch_ , he thinks. _And you literally ARE a son of a bitch._

Some people describe their black dogs as a slobbery, yapping mutt. Richard believes his is more like a huge, silent Newfoundland that pushes him off his feet and sits on him for a while, giving him just enough air to breathe but no energy to move.

He stares at the shadows on his walls as the sun goes down outside and the street lamps light up. He imagines that Jeremy and James will find him there in a few days, frozen to his sofa, his eyes open but unseeing.

_That’s not really what I want._

And now he finally has enough energy to rise from the sofa, put the cereal away, and change into pyjamas before going back to bed again.

****

It’s a little bit better the next day. James is off filming in the countryside, so Richard just has to deal with the likelihood of seeing Jeremy – and that turns out to be a nonissue, because Andy seems to have Jezza pinned down in an intense brainstorming and rewriting session.

Richard takes the new Porsche out for a spin around the Eboladrome. It’s a delightful car, and he can feel his spirits rise as it performs beautifully under his command. And he doesn’t have to fake his enthusiasm for the camera. This is going to be a good film.

For the first time in days, he actually feels happy about something.

He goes back to the office and pulls into the car park, thinking that he might try to write a little article for DriveTribe, something about how an excellent car can improve one’s mood (without spoiling the film, or going into too much detail about himself, of course). 

But when he sits down at his computer, the words won’t come. 

_I’ve lost it,_ he thinks. _It’s gone. I can’t write._

“You bastard,” he growls under his breath. 

The Newfoundland, of course, doesn’t answer him.

****

The next day, Richard has a migraine headache, right in the middle of the production meeting. He says nothing about it and simply waits out the half hour it takes for his vision to clear. 

“Are you feeling all right?” Jeremy asks him afterwards.

“Just need the loo,” he mumbles, pushing past the bigger man. 

Inside the restroom, he locks the door and puts out the light, sitting on the toilet seat and rubbing his eyes. His head definitely doesn’t feel right, and the thought enters his mind that this could be some sort of long-delayed consequence of the Vampire crash – the headaches, the irritability, the lack of energy, all of it.

_But I thought all that was behind me. Why is it happening now?_

He’s pretty sure his hopeless infatuation with his colleagues has something to do with it. At first it had been exciting to discover these feelings after so many years. The idea of falling into bed with James or Jeremy or even both of them was overwhelming. But then reality took over, and he’d had to stuff his emotions down rather hard. There had been no indication that Jeremy and James had ever seen him as anything more than their friend and colleague. He knew they would walk through fire for him (as he would for them), but he was fairly convinced that was as far as it went.

The door to the restroom rattles as someone on the outside tries to open it. “Almost done!” Richard shouts. He winces at how harsh his voice sounds to his own ears. He flushes the unused toilet, turns the light back on, and washes his hands.

He readies an apologetic smile as he opens the door, but no one is there. 

Feeling even more deflated, he skulks back to his desk, where he spends the next two hours pretending to read comments on DriveTribe and staring at photos of old motorbikes.

He looks up only when James walks by and reminds him that it’s lunchtime.

In the afternoon, he’s a little more productive, but not much. At the end of the day, he tries to slip out before Jeremy or James can see him, but they have beaten him outside and are both standing next to James’s car. Since Richard is parked nearby, it’s impossible to avoid them. He manages a pre-emptive “good night” to them before getting into his car and shutting the door.

As he drives away, he can see them staring after him.

At home, he nibbles on Chinese takeaway in front of the television and falls asleep on his sofa.

****

“We need a night out,” says Jeremy to him the next morning. “Just you, me, and James. A pub night. Tomorrow. Which is Saturday, in case you’ve lost track.”

Richard runs a tired hand through his hair and tries to think of a way to get out of this. He can’t find one. “All right.”

“Good. Meet us there at five.” 

Richard doesn’t have to ask where “there” is; it’s the place they’ve always met, only a mile or so from his flat. It’s a pub with great beer and even better food, and a private room that is always open to them (thanks to Jeremy’s friendship with the barkeep). They’ve been going there, off and on, ever since the early _Top Gear_ days.

Jeremy heads off to his cubicle and Richard to the recording room, where he is supposed to do some fresh voice-overs for his Porsche review. His script is prepared, and he manages to find some enthusiasm for this session. In a couple of hours, it’s done.

As he walks back to his desk, he passes the lunchroom, and pauses. Jeremy and James are sitting together at a table, heads almost touching, chortling over something Jeremy has found on his phone.

Richard longs to join them, to see whatever is so amusing, to share a genuine laugh once more with his best friends. It seems so long since he’s had fun with them, since these ridiculous emotions began to surface, since his confused brain started sending him all of these conflicting messages.

_They could help._

_I don’t want to trouble them. It’s not worth it. **I’m** not worth it._

He hates how the negativity snowballs, and how little control he seems to have over it. He’s read that mentally healthy people deal with these kinds of setbacks by acknowledging the “bad” thoughts and then moving on.

_Moving on to **what**? This is what they don’t tell you._

_Maybe there’s nowhere new for me to go._

He continues down the hallway before the other two can see him.

****

He spends the rest of Friday researching cars for the next _Grand Tour_ road trip and settles on a couple of possibilities. He’ll bring these suggestions to the next production meeting.

At least it’s something. He hasn’t wasted the day completely.

This time he manages to avoid Jeremy and James in the car park.

****

He goes out for a run first thing Saturday morning. He pushes himself hard for two miles, and then slows to a jog. It’s a relief to know that his body can still do these things, even if his mind keeps wandering to dark places. That so-called “runner’s high” isn’t nearly as high as it used to feel.

_You should have brought your iPod._ But he’s been so distracted lately, and afraid that he wouldn’t see or hear the cars approaching him on these busy roads. 

_Should have driven further out into the country, then._

Yes, there are always things he could have done differently. “Give me some damn credit here, you son of a bitch. At least I got some exercise. Get off my fucking back.”

_You used to go for three miles. Five, even. You are losing your edge._

“Fuck you.”

_It’s the truth._

He slows to a walk. He’s pretty sure that he could keep going, do another circuit of this neighbourhood, but what would be the point? Nope. He’s done.

He heads back to his car and drives home.

****

He showers, dresses, and makes himself eggs, coffee, and toast. He tries to read a novel that Jeremy had loaned to him, but he can’t seem to keep the characters straight in his head, and gives up after several pages.

He picks up his phone and starts looking through his social media accounts. James has a new post up on DriveTribe, including a very silly photo that makes Richard smile in spite of himself. He loves his quirky friend and his willingness to play the role of being clueless and absentminded, when he’s actually one of the sharpest and most brilliant people Richard has ever met in his life.

And beautiful, too. Richard could look at those blue eyes for days.

And when he’s not gazing into those eyes, he will gladly look into Jeremy’s.

Clarkson hasn’t posted anything on DriveTribe today, but he’s got three interesting new photos on Instagram, including one of himself with a fan. Jeremy is smiling, his hand on the young man’s shoulder, looking directly into the camera. He’s much more comfortable with these kinds of encounters than either James or Richard, which is the reason why he is the official front man for the show. Love him or hate him, Jeremy Clarkson is the face of _The Grand Tour_.

And Richard loves him. Both of them. He can’t help it. He knows that the two of them have much more in common with each other than they do with him. It’s why the new Italian film was written the way it was – the two older men trying to enjoy some culture, while Richard stirred things up by being loud and obnoxious. It had been planned in advance, of course, and he knew the viewers would enjoy this episode; the banter, the cars, the scenery, the humour. 

But it had also been tiring to be an annoying little shit every minute of the day. He liked art. He loved Italy. And it hurt him to see Jeremy rolling his eyes and to hear James yelling at him to shut up – even if it was all in the script.

This programme, and _Top Gear_ before it, were designed to have the three of them play off of each other and to project more antagonism among them than really existed. It was just telly, of course. But sometime he worried that it had spilled into their actual relationship.

He wishes that the three of them could have an epic adventure somewhere, without the cameras, without the mechanical breakdowns, without the pretend fights, just enjoying each other’s company. And maybe this would have been more possible a few years ago, before Jeremy’s issues with the BBC had boiled over, and things had gotten complicated.

Now, he just doesn’t know what they have outside of the show. And part of him is afraid to find out that it’s a lot less than it used to be.

He shuts off DriveTribe and starts up a game on his phone, shooting aliens with great gusto, until a message pops up that his battery is running low. He’d forgotten to charge it up last night.

_Fuck it._ He keeps playing, trying to improve his score, until the phone dies altogether.

Now what? It’s only three o’clock, way too early to think about meeting James and Jeremy.

He tosses the phone aside, grabs a beer from the fridge, ignores the week’s worth of dirty dishes in his sink, and settles in on the sofa. Outside, the bright sunny morning has turned into a cloudy afternoon, and Richard can see streaks of rain on his windows.

_Great._

He tries to watch a movie on television, but finds himself losing interest quickly. He’s dreading this evening with his friends, actually dreading it. Why did Jeremy include him anyway? 

He’s tired. He thought he had gotten enough rest last night, but his brain feels sluggish. He stretches out, covering himself with a quilt and tucking a throw pillow under his head. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up and go to bed. It’ll just be a short nap, anyway.

He shuts his eyes and lets the droning of the television lull him into sleep.

****

A loud noise startles him awake. Someone is banging on his door. And shouting.

“Hammond! Open up!”

It’s Jeremy. _Oh, shit._ The display on Richard’s DVR tells him it’s quarter past six. He’s slept through their pub date.

The pounding gets louder. “Richard! Are you in there?” That’s James.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, swinging his legs over the side of the sofa and getting to his feet. He wobbles over to the door and opens it.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy breathes. James says nothing, but gives Richard a piercing blue stare that hits him right in the gut.

“You scared us, Hammo,” Jeremy continues as Richard steps aside to let them in. “You didn’t show up at the pub, and we couldn’t raise you on your mobile.”

“It’s dead,” he mumbles, remembering that he hadn’t plugged it in for recharging.

“We thought **you** were dead!” James growls. “Or that you’d fallen off your bike and were lying in a ditch somewhere. What’s wrong with you?”

Richard feels sudden tears coming, and tries to fight them off. “Nothing! Just fell asleep in front of the telly.”

Jeremy and James glance at each other. “No,” Jeremy says. “No. There’s something going on. And we’re not leaving until you tell us what it is.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re **not** fine,” James spits out. “You’re moody, you’re forgetful, you’re distracted, you’ve been an utter pain in the arse for weeks.”

Richard shrinks back at the anger in James’s voice. It’s all true, he knows it, but he’d really hoped it wasn’t that obvious.

Jeremy puts a hand on James’s shoulder. “Calm down, Slow.”

James takes a deep breath and finally nods. “All right. Can we – Hammond, can you just turn that damn thing off?”

He’s indicating the TV, and Richard finds the remote and does so.

“Okay,” Jeremy says, running a hand through his thinning grey curls. “Let’s sit down.”

“It’s a mess in here, sorry…” begins Richard, but James is already picking up the quilt and folding it, and Jeremy has turned on a lamp and scooped up the empty beer bottle from the floor and is heading it for the kitchen.

James waves Richard over to the sofa, and he complies, lowering himself slowly, and staring at the floor. What is he going to say to them?

James sits to his right. Jeremy returns and sits on his other side.

“All right,” Clarkson says after a few moments. “What’s going on, Richard?”

He can’t say anything at first. He can only shake his head.

“What breed is yours?” James asks quietly.

Richard looks up at him. “Breed?”

“Mine is a black Lab. Annoying thing. Barks at me every time I make a mistake.”

“And mine is a miniature poodle,” Jeremy puts in. “She bites.”

“ **She?** ”

“Yes, James, my black dog is a girl. Technically speaking, a real bitch.”

Richard can’t help smiling at this. “I have…a Newfoundland. Big, smelly beast that sits on me.”

He expects a joke from either of the other two about his size, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Jeremy puts an arm around his shoulder. 

“You’re not alone, here, Richard. We both know what it’s like.”

“I didn’t…” He’s starting to choke up. “I thought…”

“It’s okay,” says James, and Richard feels something inside him break loose, and the tears begin to flow. Jeremy rubs his back, and he cries for a couple of minutes. His friends say nothing, letting him take his time until he is ready to speak again.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, accepting a handkerchief from James and wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry I made you two worry about me. I don’t want that.”

“Well, it’s too late for that,” Jeremy rumbles. “We do worry about you. We’re your friends.”

“And that comes with a certain amount of emotional commitment,” added James. Richard turns to stare at him. “Don’t look so surprised, man. It’s the truth, and I wouldn’t say this to just anyone.”

“You’d say it to me,” Jeremy remarks.

“Well, of course, you big pillock.” There is a distinct fondness in James’s voice. “But I’m rather committed to both of you, as it turns out.”

There’s a brief silence. Richard tries to make sense of what he’s just heard. 

“That goes for me, too,” Jeremy says quietly.

More silence. Richard feels that something is expected of him now. And why not acknowledge it? It is the truth.

“Likewise.” 

Jeremy pulls Richard into a brief hug, and James puts a hand on his knee and squeezes it.

“We’re here for you, Richard,” says Jeremy. “We always are. Don’t feel like you need to shut us out or protect us from anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” he manages.

“All right. Now that we have that cleared up….” Jeremy says. “I’m thirsty and I’m starving.”

“We could still go to the pub….” Richard begins.

Jeremy waves this off. “I’m driving over to the off-licence for some beer. Why don’t you two order us a pizza?”

“Sounds good,” says James, and Richard is secretly grateful that he doesn’t have to leave his flat after all. He’s feeling a little better, but he really doesn’t want to be in a crowd right now.

Jeremy leaves, and the other two quickly sort out the pizza order. After James makes the call, he puts his phone down and turns to Richard.

“I’m sorry I got so upset with you earlier.”

Richard shrugs. “It’s all right.”

“I….Well, the thought of something bad happening to you terrifies me.”

Richard nods rapidly, ducking his head. He can’t find the words. But then James moves closer, and he’s pulling Richard into a hug, and it’s the biggest, tightest hug Richard can ever remember getting from this man. He relaxes into it, returning the embrace, and he can feel James drawing a deep breath before he lets go, with a final pat to Hammond’s shoulder.

“I’ll help you get the table set,” James suggests.

“If there’s any clean plates,” Richard says, feeling sheepish. “Haven’t kept up with the dishwashing lately.”

“Well, let’s remedy that,” James says with a smile.

****

With the two of them working together, they finish the job just as Jeremy returns with the beer. Fifteen minutes later, the pizza shows up, and Richard finds himself digging into it with an appetite he hasn’t felt in quite some time.

They talk about their show – their former show, each of them reaching back into his mind for old stories and secrets that the others had either forgotten or hadn’t known about in the first place. Richard can feel a happier version of himself starting to emerge from the darkness as he sits with his mates and soaks in their shared memories.

He knows that the Newfoundland hasn’t been banished yet, but at least the big bastard has been caught and caged up for a while.

James excuses himself to use the loo at one point, and Jeremy takes the opportunity to hand Richard a business card. “This is the woman who helped me a couple of years ago after the incident in Yorkshire. She’s good. Give her a call next week. I think she can help you, too.”

Richard nods. “Okay, Jez.”

Jeremy looks at him for a few moments, then leans over, puts a hand on Richard’s shoulder, and plants a kiss on his forehead. “I do care, you know.”

Richard can’t help smiling back at him, even though his body feels charged up, by the touch as well as the kiss.

“What did I miss, Jezza?” James asks as he walks back into the room. “Have you told him yet that you fancy his arse?”

“Well, no.” Jeremy is still staring at Richard. “Because I happen to fancy all of him, not just his pretty arse.”

Richard’s face feels pretty warm already from the two beers he’s had, but he’s flushing even more now.

“I’ll fight you for him,” James says, and then bursts into laughter.

“Oh, really?” Jeremy retorts. “You’d put your hands on me, would you?”

“You know I would. Anywhere you’d let me.”

Richard stares at this back-and-forth banter, laughing a bit, wondering how much of it is real. 

Finally Jeremy lifts his beer and takes a long drink. “Sometime soon, I would like to try it out with both of you. When it’s right, and if you’re willing.”

There’s a long silence, and Richard feels compelled to break it. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious.” Jeremy’s had a few beers himself, but his voice is steady. “Thought about it for a long time, what it might be like.”

“James?”

“Yeah.” May’s voice is husky. “Me, too.”

Richard can’t quite believe they’re not having one over on him. “You’re not joking.”

James looks at him steadily, putting a hand on Richard’s knee. “Not in the least.”

Richard expects the moment to break, but James and Jeremy are silent, waiting for his response. 

“I….I’ve thought about it, too,” he manages to say. “With both of you. Just never thought either of you might be interested.”

“We’re interested,” says Jeremy definitively, and James nods in agreement. “But let’s give it some time first.” 

Richard can see the wisdom of this; he knows that he still has some work to do to regain his equilibrium before embarking on – whatever this will turn out to be.

James’s hand is still on his knee; Richard squeezes it with one hand while reaching out to Jeremy with the other; Jeremy claims it with a solid grasp and stretches across the table to take James’s other hand.

“Okay,” Jeremy says after a moment. “Let’s finish eating and then find something on TV to watch.”

****

The hours go by. They are sitting together on the sofa, drinking more beer, watching a movie, and soon it dawns on Richard that the other two aren’t going to be fit to drive anywhere.

“You know you can stay,” he says. “Somebody can have the spare room and somebody can have this sofa.”

“Or we could all crowd into your bed together,” says Jeremy. “Just to sleep, mind you.”

Richard thinks that sounds rather nice, but he’s not sure his bed is big enough for three people.

“I don’t bite on the first date,” drawls James from Richard’s other side.

“That’s unfortunate,” says Jeremy.

James sits up and leans over Richard. “I will keep that in mind.”

“You do that.” Jeremy reaches across and tucks a stray lock of hair behind James’s ear. “I’m counting on you, Slow.”

“Oi!” Richard protests. “Trying to watch the film here!”

Jeremy retracts his hand, James sits back, and Richard finds himself wondering if they all could sleep in his bed after all.

****

As it turns out, they can.


End file.
